Sarge: Stallion of the Barracks
by 001ElvenWarrior
Summary: Oneshot...the Colonel's horse's POV on events dealing with a particular mustang.


_Disclaimer: I don't own Spirit, or a horse for that matter...but the latter may change - the former never._

_Author's Note: This just popped into my head after watching Spirit and I began to wonder about the Colonel and his horse._

Sarge: Stallion of the Barracks

Strong-willed, spirited, stubborn – I knew the type well. Being stationed at the Army barracks wasn't all boring – for us horses anyway. The fact that my rider was the Colonel, gave me more prestige than most, but it didn't come without responsibility. As the colonel's horse, I was expected to behave, stand still for long periods of time, and to respond to my colonel's every command. In a way, I was not so very different from those he commanded.

Life in the Army barracks was routine – until _he_ came. Strong-willed, spirited, and stubborn, the epitome of the Old West, he bore them proudly. For him, life in the barracks was a game – how long could he last before he gave out on hope of escaping. It was a game I sometimes enjoyed in the idle moments before sleep – but I did not wish to live free. I had everything I needed.

Spirit, mustang, it was the one and the same – a trouble maker caught in curiosity and too stubborn to insist he hadn't caused the problem himself. He livened up the barracks, I must admit. I hadn't seen such support for a newly caught horse since this stallion arrived – being hauled in by the force of four men. The look on his face had been priceless, watching as the others had trotted in columns.

Then, of course, I had had my debut. The stallion had panicked – for good cause since his way of life was about to change, and not necessarily for the better. I had stood proudly, neck arched as the Colonel fired his gun – a sound I had long since become accustomed to. The colonel had said some words before the mustang had grabbed and broken his crop. The stallion had guts – but the Colonel had dealt with wild horses before.

As far as "routine" went, this stallion fought it: hoof and teeth. I gained some respect for him – as a true leader of a herd. Murphy had a heck of a time with him – but it was no contest really. The problem with people is they feel superior to horses, when in fact it should be the other way around. After all, who weighs more here: a 150-200 pound person who _sits_ on the horse, or the 1000-1200 pound horse who _carries_ his rider? So of course, the mustang managed to loosen the ropes enough to avoid the final mark: the branding iron.

That was only the beginning, before he was sentenced to the corral to be 'broken in'. There was some definite tension between the Colonel and this stallion – I suppose it was a battle of wills. And a fine battle it was. The stallion seemed to enjoy himself immensely in the corral, bucking off riders as he pleased – until the Colonel got fed up with the incompetence of his men. Then it was three days without food or water.

The third day dawned with the battle of wills – Colonel versus Stallion; Captor versus Captive. It helped relieve some tension, and indeed drew the interests of the other men, until the Stallion at last gave in. I felt utter contempt for the stallion – if he truly was from the Old West, he should have put up more of a fight – but then I suppose he was weakened from his lack of food and water. Either way, none of us had expected his final onslaught for freedom – least of all the Colonel. I was almost sad when the Colonel had ordered the execution, until a whoop and a moment later, the place was thrown in disarray.

The Stallion made a bolt for it, doing his best to set the others free and gaining my respect: that he'd look out not just for himself. The barrack doors had been closing until Murphy stood between him and freedom – why they didn't just shut the door, I don't know, but apparently Murphy had something to settle with this particular stallion. Whatever he had planned to do, Murphy hadn't expected the stallion to turn tail and kick – that much was obvious.

And that was the first time I'd seen the mustang. Our lives were fated to meet once more, this time in some questionable landscape that was filled with the danger of not just cliffs, but sheer ground with loose pebbles. A truly bad place for horses who hated getting stones in their hooves. But even when the stallion was cornered on a high island of a rock, the stallion was never thinking about failure – even as he leaped over the insane drop. If the Colonel had not had the decency to let the stallion go after that, I would have probably bucked him over the cliff, just to give him a better appreciation of what that stallion had done. But the Colonel had his own sense of dignity and honor. He let the stallion go and we turned to go home.

The stallion had changed my view of the barracks and of life in general. Life was what you made it, for better or for worse. I also learned that I preferred routine life to living free.

_Author's Note: Thanks so much for reading - now if you wouldn't mind leaving a review...that'd be great! Have a great night/day!_


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